


I Know You

by Watson_Holmes



Series: Inspiration John [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hiatus, Imaginary Friends, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Johnlock?, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watson_Holmes/pseuds/Watson_Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's had friends when they were little. Sherlock had John. Just like every other Imaginary Friend, he leaves on Sherlock's eighth birthday.<br/>Decades later, John discovers that people can see him or more exactly he isn't a Spirit anymore. What happens when a childhood imaginary friend comes to life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Bye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: the whole chapter (5/16/17) & (6/5/17), (1/15/18)

**Chapter One: Good Bye**

"That's brilliant, Sherlock!"

The young boy glowed at the compliment.

Sherlock Holmes was smiling, aged five and brilliant as ever.

"It was very obvious John," the boy sniffed loudly, puffing his chest out at his best friend in pride. John grinned back, his ocean blue eyes twinkled. Sherlock suddenly held his breath and stared at them. No, eyes aren't supposed to sparkle...

But John's would.

Sherlock had known John since forever. Whenever someone asked the boy to describe John, he would proudly list off all of the blond's qualities.

Short, caring, impulsive _,_ smart, and the list would go on for kilometres upon kilometres until the brunet's had enough of the elbow jabs John gives telling him to hush up. (Sherlock decided there and then to change John's file into a cabinet.)

But there was one thing that puzzled the young Holmes most: John didn't age. In fact, no one but himself could see the ash-blond, which puzzled him because he was positive that John was as real as any other person.

So by Sherlock's absolute diction, John was  _Unordinary_.

He was Sherlock's very first mystery.

Going to the antique store to buy something wasn't hard if you were Sherlock and six. Even the most expensive things came easily to the little mastermind.

"This is for you, John," Sherlock handed the blond a bracelet that day.

It was a small trinket, its silver chained beads were covered with small defined jewels and each hardly a millimetre wide.

The small blond stared at him with wide-eyes.

"Sherlock, how much did this cost?" John lifted the trinket into the air, admiring how easily the light caught onto the gems.

"I bought it with my whole allowance," Sherlock felt his face heat up when John actually froze in front of him.

The cost was ridiculous. £381.52. But it was worth it because John was worth it, Sherlock decided. And Sherlock needed him.

"Isn't that about- £400? Sherlock, are you _crazy?_ " John exclaimed as he gingerly set the bracelet down on the table next to them, then reached an arm out to feel the brunet's forehead. The taller child swatted away the offending hand.

Sherlock glared at John, "Fine, I'll throw it in the trash."

 _"Please don't let me"_ , Sherlock prayed silently while keeping his fingers crossed behind his back. He saw John's eyes soften immediately as if he had just read his mind.

"No! I mean, it's crazy, Sherlock. You don't need to buy me anything," the blond bumbled out. Sherlock's eyes lit up with hope when he saw a hint of red rise up to the tips of John's ears.

"Will you keep it with you forever, then? Stay with me forever?" Sherlock grinned as he eagerly tugged at John's woolly jumper(sweater).

John's smile melted even more, and he swiftly wrapped the bracelet several times around his wrist, "Of course I'll keep it with me forever. I promise."

He didn't notice that John never answered the last question.

Mummy took them out to a friend's private mansion one day, and they stayed overnight for his birthday party. Sherlock was seven years old and still close to John as ever.

"I'll come back later, Sherlock behave yourself," Violet Holmes ordered sharply. She checked her watch, it was near midnight.

"Of course Mummy. John's here," Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mrs. Holmes grimaced and sighed, she didn't know what to do with her youngest son's imagination.

 _"Sooner or later he'll realise it"_ , Violet assured herself as she watched her child scurry away holding onto thin air.

He'll realise it one day. John's not real.

Sherlock ran up to the next glass display and stared at the encapsulated complex puzzle, fascinated by its art. He had been running around with John all day, so the fatigue had finally caught up a few minutes later as he stood up slowly. Sherlock paused midway when he noticed John's fidgeting in the glass reflection.

"John?" Sherlock turned around slowly.

"I- I..."

John's lips quivered and his eyebrows furrowed; Sherlock knew that was not good. It was _never_ good.

"Sherlock, do you know that I don't exist? I'm just part of your im--imagination," John spoke softly but his voice broke at the end.

"John, what are you saying?" Young Sherlock stood nimrod straight, there had to be telltale signs. Of lying. But John's eyes stayed sorrowful, he wasn't lying. 

"Stop it!" Young Sherlock realised he had covered his ears because John _never_ lies, and Sherlock trusts him. And This Was Not Funny.

"Please. Sherlock, listen to me. There's very little time left, I want to talk you. Look at me," John pried Sherlock's hands away. The blond grabbed the sides of his head, forcing the brunet to look at him in the eyes.

"Once midnight passes, you will never see me again. You'll eventually forget me, Sherlock, you won't even remember me."

"I'll lose you, you're my best friend. _Please_ don't go," Sherlock was on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry. _I'm so sorry_ , _please-_ Sherlock _please_ forgive me," John choked out the words, "I have to. It's the rules. All imaginary friends disappear on their eighth birthday, at midnight."

John licked his lips as Sherlock tugged desperately on his thin bracelet. It was their sign, their bond.

"You have been doing this forever? Leaving people, like you will leave me?" Sherlock defeatedly seethed out. He felt the tears clinging to his face as John flinched at his words, he hated it.

"Yes. But you're Different. I'll _never_ forget you, ever," John murmured as he pulled away from young Sherlock, "I have to go."

 

He felt the trinket go away first.

Sherlock tried to grab the blond, but John was too far away.

"No!"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I am _sorry,_ " John climbed into the lift(elevator), and Sherlock knew that he only had a few seconds left. He felt like he was trapped in a time loop as his body sluggishly responded to his commands. Sherlock's mind was racing with a new desperation, " _Get to John, reach for him, don't leave me."_  

Anything, he could've said anything. The brunet could feel more tears blur his vision as his he parted his lips.

"I hate you!" And it closed.

Sherlock ran to the elevator doors and banged on the buttons. The doors opened.

Nothing.

Sherlock Holmes fell down on his knees in shock and stopped crying.

Violet Holmes came back to find her child leaning on the wall, broken down. She quickly ran toward Sherlock and embraced him, feeling his small frame shutter with each breath against her touch.

"Mummy he's gone."

"Who's gone?"

"I don't know, I can't remember," Sherlock muttered.

He started crying again, "I want to remember! _I WANT TO REMEMBER!_ "

Holmes brought back a broken boy.

He stayed broken for the rest of his time in that house, a completely different person. He wouldn't speak, eat, or communicate for weeks on end, doing nothing all day. The once happy face was now solemn, bleak--full of hate and annoyance. In that moment, on the midnight of January sixth, something was born.

A Sociopath.


	2. Becoming Visible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's impossible. No one is supposed to see him.  
> Yet, now they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: The whole chapter (6/5/17), (1/16/18)

  **Chapter 2: Becoming Visible**

When John woke up lying down on his back, his whole body felt sore. He sucked in his breath and rolled over.

His last child was from Afghanistan, where there was war. How he wished he could somehow help the child more, but there never was enough time. John slowly sat up and expected to see his next child. Nothing. That wasn't right, John _always_ woke by his next child.

Instead, he was in a dark-lit alleyway. With not a single soul in sight.

Puzzled, John tried to stand up but fell as his legs felt like butter. Awkwardly, they didn't feel like his own. John knew all imaginary spirits stayed in their same spiritual forms forever. If someone was the Easter Bunny or Santa Clause or even a Stuffed Bear then they'd stay that way. John's two ordinary human legs shouldn't feel wrong, heck he shouldn't even be feeling tired or sore. 

But he was both, so something was wrong.

John tried to stand again, successful, and slightly woozy. The blond ended up tumbling out of the alleyway and onto a busy pavement, where he raised a hand to block the sunlight from his eyes. He blinked as he looked around, feeling a bit taller than usual. It had to be from the sudden change of perspective.

 _"At least I'm in England,"_ John noted when he saw the streets. John giggled as he felt people brush by him, this had to be a dream. Something within him told him it was already half past noon. As he peered across the road, he saw a head of familiar dark curls.

_"Is that-"_

Couldn't be. There was no way that was Sherlock Holmes, it was just his mind playing with him again. It was unknown for a spirit to see their past child again but John just had to try. Dream or not, he had to try.

So he ran across the street towards the person's general direction but stopped when he heard the sudden sound of tyres screeching on his right side.

"Oi! Get out of the way, mate!"

The cabbie yelled in his direction. Unlike any other sensible person, John stood still and froze at the phrase. He looked around for another possible living beings the driver was shouting at and saw nothing. He jerked his head back at the beeping coming from the cab, adrenaline nearly tipped his whole body backwards. Impossible.  _They were talking to him._

And there he was, with a cab literally inches away from running him over.

"A-Are you talking to me?" John sputtered in the cabbie's direction, his voice sounded foreign to even himself.

"Of _course_  I'm talking to you!" The man leaned out the window and shook a fist at John.

"You-You can _S_ _ee_ me?"

"'Course I can, I'm not blind!"

The cabbie looked like he was about to drive straight through him.

 

_"Hey, idiot! Get, off. THE ROAD!"_

_"Are you Kidding me?"_

__"Fools these days! Idiots, all of them!"_ _

 

John's ears were ringing as he ran off hearing a series of similar offensive phrases and honking string behind him. 

This was more than wrong. Oh God, this was Not Good.

It couldn't be. Nobody was supposed to see him.

Other spirits? Okay.

Other people? Not. Okay.

John stumbled to a window, then quickly backed away at what he saw. Ignoring other people's snide comments and stares, John slowly crept up to his reflection again.

The face in front of him was older, the body taller. Too old and too tall. He comically grabbed both sides of his face and turned his head back and forth. The reflection did the same. John grabbed his arm and pinched, hard.

John blinked back the tears that sprung out as soon as he felt the pain.

Great.

He's a lost _Friend,_ with no child. Not to mention, he didn't even know if he was an imaginary spirit anymore. Whatever was happening to him today was too confusing and abstract for John to process. He turned around and leaned on the glass, trying to get himself together.

As if by fate, he saw the familiar mop of dark curls again. John's curiosity quickly overwhelmed his current distress as he stood up quickly, trying to see who was the owner of the hair. A bit frustrated, the blond ended up on his tiptoes, trying to look over the crowd of people.

It belonged to a tall young man wearing a long black coat who was walking toward some taped scene. John could only see a part of the man's face before he could come to a positive conclusion. The man, whose back was facing John once again, had walked up to a woman and exchanged a few words before ducking underneath something and then disappearing altogether.

John panicked and ran after the young man.

Only to be stopped by the same woman be saw before behind some yellow tape. John frowned at her and was about to say something before a plaque was shoved into his face.

"Sergeant Sally Donovan, only authorised personals can enter this crime scene," Donovan said firmly, "Unless you're a witness, suspect, or you work for the New Scotland Yard you may not enter."

_Crime scene._

"Crime scene?" John managed to muster.

"Yes _sir_ , and if you just happened to pass by. _PLEASE_ carry on," Donovan retorted.

Rude.

"Look. I was looking for that dark haired man that just walked in," John grumbled as he felt the weight of his situation on his shoulders once again.

Sally Donovan raised her brows, "You mean the Freak? Don't even try to talk to him, your just wasting your precious time. I suggest you go back to where you came from."

John didn't want to hear. If only he could see that man once again to confirm his suspicions, and as selfish and ridiculous as his day already was gonna get --if this dream even was a dream-- John had to see Sherlock Holmes one last time. He tried to push against the woman and go through the tape.

Donovan brought out her gun, "Freeze! _Now_."

John froze.

John felt heart stop momentarily and opened his mouth to protest, but paused when he noticed that the woman in front of him and visibly relaxed when a middle-aged man passed by. John could only assume he was some sort of detective at the moment.

"Sally are you seriously pointing a gun at a civilian right now?" The man strained as he swiftly(and safely) pulled the gun out of the sergeant's hands. John noted that the man's hair was a fine spray of salt and pepper.

"Lestrade sir, this _crazy guy_ , wants to meet the Freak," Sally gestured violently at John like he was an imminent threat. Lestrade ran his hands over own face like it was the only thing left to smother his frustration.

"Donovan. For the last time; he's not a freak, his name's Sh-"

"Yes I _know,_ sir. Now what do I do with this guy right here?" Sally interrupted quickly, and to John, it definitely sounded like she was trying to cover up the gun incident. Before John could strain his ears any longer, the sergeant rolled her eyes and grabbed John's elbow unexpectedly. John let out a small yelp, and his heart hammered against his chest. The contact felt extremely alien.

Lestrade stared at John who was trying to wrench away his arm in panic, "Sally, will you quit! We'll keep him, he'll probably benefit us in this crime scene. After all, there must be _some_ reason why he's here." John made a face as he was finally freed, not wanting to be part of anything.

"Are you kidding me, this guy literally just asked if this was a crime scene."

"He knows She-"

" _Fine. Boss."_

John was inwardly cursing the lady who just let go of him. _Ugly old lady. Hag. Meanie. Dummy. Creep. Stinkbug-_

"What's your name?" Lestrade interrupted John's little mental rant.

The blond's breath hitched and he paused. Should he tell the truth? "I'm John."

"Last name?"

"I can't remember," John lied as Lestrade raised his brows.

Lestrade opened then closed his mouth, "You'll be coming with me then."

Sally squeaked out, "But-"

Lestrade glared at her, effectively shutting her up, "He'll be coming with me. We're going to meet somebody." He patiently waited for John to completely duck beneath the tape.

"Who?" John's heart fluttered with hope.

"For a request such as yours, you'll see him at dinner. But first, we've got this case to solve."


	3. Strange Blond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this super fast, because I was sleepy.  
> ~Freeform.
> 
> Revised: The whole chapter past midnight, not perfect but suitable >:] (6/6/17)

 

Sherlock stared at his phone willing for Lestrade to arrive on time, unlike every other time Lestrade comes late.

The detective inspector(DI) had invited Sherlock to dinner, and the world's only consulting detective gave in once Lestrade had managed to bribe him with another case. A cold case.

Sherlock checked the time again knowing Lestrade will be late within 30 seconds. He didn't want to be here anyway. Then he heard the sound of footsteps, Lestrade's. However, there was an anonymous one too. High probability of it being a passer-by's.

He looked up as the doors opened, "Finally on time, for once."

Lestrade was talking to someone outside the doorway. His back facing the consulting detective, his posture very casual, his arms out of his pockets, and his eager tone confirmed Sherlock's other claim. Strange Lestrade never mentioned bringing another person. Sherlock frowned as Lestrade gave one final word then turned around toward Sherlock.

"You never mentioned company," Sherlock accused Lestrade.

The Detective Inspector grinned at Sherlock, "Just meet someone interesting today. Thought you might want to check him out."

Sherlock scowled, "Who?"

"Picked him up at the crime scene, thought he might be useful," Lestrade pulled a chair and sat down, "He actually was, well helpful. Don't look at me like that, this guy helped us a lot. He even gave us some hints on how the death was caused."

Sherlock raised a brow, "Lestrade, another one of your idiot friends? I hardly could say that our judgement's intact, you left him outside."

"Shoot!" Lestrade ran back out to look for said stranger. Sherlock hummed as he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Lestrade to come back with his person. Honestly, coming out once in a while was not bad.

It was horrible. And boring.

Sherlock heard the doors open lightly again.

"Ah, Lestra-," He stopped when his eyes snapped open to a blue eyed, short blond at the door.

Sherlock stared at the short blond headed stranger, and the blond stared back.

The eyeball game went on for half a minute, until a breathless Lestrade ruined it by opening the door on the blond. The wooden door to the private room hit the small man directly between the occipital and parietal region of the head. Sherlock snapped back into reality from his momentary trance.

"At least you found your man, Lestrade," Sherlock coughed trying to cover his surprise. Lestrade hurriedly ran to assist the blond uttering a string of apologies.

The dazed man sat there glancing at Sherlock with a stunned expression. Sherlock noticed recognition as one of the multiple expressions flying across the small man's face. Strange. Lestrade pulled the blond up.

Sherlock couldn't help but stare at the man's eyes. Blue. Vivid blue. Beautiful Blue.

Something tugged at Sherlock's insides, as if old memories wanted to tear out. Sherlock scowled and mentally forced away the sudden feelings. After Lestrade finished helping the blond to the chair. Lestrade coughed embarrassed.

"Introductions. Lestrade, very rude," Sherlock gave his signature grin, Lestrade shot him a look.

"Well Mr _I'm-A-Narcissist_ , this here is John," Lestrade waved at John. Then jabbing Sherlock in the head Lestrade announced, "John. May I introduce to you the most troublesome git in the world, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock swatted the detective inspector's hand away and made a face. He noticed that John's eyes widened then softened at the mention of his name.

"Sherlock Holmes," John muttered confirmation, before grinning like one of those little imps. In Sherlock's case, he meant kids. However, John's grin was-charming.

Sherlock was perplexed by the blond's odd behaviour.

Lestrade had already ordered food trying to convince Sherlock and John to eat, not like Sherlock was going to eat anyway.

Especially after that awkward discussion about today's crime scene, Sherlock had smugly described then solved the murder in less than a minute. Of course, solving it, as in how the murder was commenced. Finding the murderer was another story.

John just sat there staring at his food as if he didn't know what to do with it. Sherlock eventually asked for the cold case and the DI reluctantly gave him the file.

He ended up solving that one too.

Sherlock was truly bored to death.

If it wasn't for the unexpected guest, he probably would've left the minute he saw the file about a man who drowned in his vehicle in the bathroom. It was the frog, of course.

Then Lestrade gave up on trying to make the two more sociable, and excused himself.

Sherlock decided to observe the blond, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Sorry?" The blond startled. His close-cropped hair flew up, the tan lines on his face paled a bit, and his near perfect posture faltered a bit. All hinted toward military.

"Which one was it? In Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock replied impatiently.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you...?" John said smiling. Sherlock paused, surprised by John's reaction. Lestrade walked back in, and immediately noticed the pregnant awkwardness pervading the room.

"I see Sherlock, starting to make deductions about John. Stop going into everyone's _privacy_!" Lestrade hissed.

The blond suddenly jumped up and slammed a hand on the table, startling the two.

"It's alright Lestrade, perfectly fine. He wasn't doing anything weird to me. Now can we just start to eat? Holmes, stuff some nutrients down that empty stomach," John scowled at Sherlock. Sherlock made a stunned offended face, apparently the small man was ordering him around.

Before Sherlock could register what was happening, his hand grabbed a fork and shoved something down his throat. He nearly choked on the food from shock.

Lestrade stared at John astonished, "How in the world did you do that?"

"Just told him to, never thought he would actually listen," John blinked equally surprised.

Lestrade talked to John the rest of dinner, whilst Sherlock was still shovelling food in his mouth. He truly wanted to heave, somehow his brain decided not to listen but keep on eating. Sherlock was truly annoyed by whatever was causing him to continue to devour like this.

Transport was failing to listen to his commands, and he hated it.

"John I'm sincerely sorry but I have to leave. I paid for the food," Lestrade looked at his phone, "I have to run. If you don't mind, I'll be needing you at the scene again tomorrow if possible. Stop looking at me like that Holmes, John gives more input than your quick claims. I know I don't do this often. Look, if you need anything ask Sherlock for my number. I mean there's no escaping the law anyway, you helped NSYPD out today."

Sherlock was deeply offended by the DI's earlier statement; claims? No, he was a professional. If only people could catch up with what he said, then they could actually appreciate 'claims', or 100% accurate facts, he provided each time he went to a crime scene. When he actually _felt_ like helping.

"Watson," John murmured, "John Watson."

The consulting detective was suddenly pulled out from his mind palace as he felt something in his chest knot up, then let go when he heard that name. John must've noticed the grimace on the brunet's face, because he looked extremely concerned.

Which was weird because Lestrade didn't notice, only John did.

"Lestrade, you know, let me order the food if there ever is a next time. Sherlock's not fond of tomatoes." How the _heck*_ did John know of that? As if the blond was caught in headlights, he quickly blurted out, "I mean... it _seemed_ like S-Holmes doesn't-"

Lestrade laughed obliviously and patted the flustered blond on the shoulder. Sherlock, however noticed the very obvious lie.

"Alright, good bye, see you mate."

Sherlock's mind was racing when Lestrade left. He nearly hissed, "Where in the world did you-"

"I'll-I'll explain later. Look Sherlock, I'll see you tomorrow right? I'll just leave now." John muttered softly. Sherlock stood and walked across the room, half expecting the blond to leave too. John just stared after him.

"Just call me Sherlock, no need for formalities. The address is 221B Baker Street," Sherlock turned around as he stepped out the door. A wink and a click, the consulting detective exited the restaurant.

Sherlock needed to see to the blue eyed, blond haired again. This John Watson was a lovely new puzzle, an enigma, shrouded in riddles**, who a perpetual positive air around and about him.

It was only a matter of time before the consulting detective found out who, or what, exactly sent the blond to the one and only; Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Surprisingly, I'm trying to limit the cursing
> 
> *TF2: Oh boy, I wonder which class
> 
> ~Lol. Awkward conversation, I know. Hey!  
> I couldn't really think of a better way for John, Lestrade, and Sherlock to meet.  
> Plus, I had already included 'Dinner first.' Drat Lestrade! Why make things complicated, you just met him!  
> I'm still satisfied though, you guys reading makes me happy. >:D
> 
> I didn't mean to accuse you, Lestrade. I apologize Lestrade. T^T


	4. Invisible Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John appears at a crime scene at an unexpected moment.  
> Sherlock is surprised but needs John's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry for the hiatus.  
> I've been busy.
> 
> Revised: Part 1 (6/11/17)  
> Revised: Part 2 (7/7/17)

  **Chapter Four: Invisible Witness**

 

John stared off as Sherlock left the room, this was it.

He's done the impossible, he's met his long lost child, and the feeling of accomplishment was overwhelming, but now what?

John suddenly jumped when his pocket vibrated. He shoved his hand in his pocket finding a phone, he was surprised he hadn't noticed it. The smart phone was a emergency communication device for some spirits.

The caller ID said _HARRY_. With _n_ _ine_  missed calls.

John panicked when he pressed answer.

 

"John! Now you answer your phone, we're having a meeting. I know you just transferred, so why didn't you pick up?"

"I-" John slapped a hand over his mouth, remembering that his voice was now a lot deeper. 

"Johnny? Answer me, is everything alright?"

 _'Whispering's fine right?'_ John nodded his head with confidence. That was a lie, John was actually cold-sweating as he exited the restaurant into the night's cool air.

"Hey Harry," he tried his best to keep his tone flat, "Sorry. The child I was with couldn't sleep." 

"You... sound weird."

"Yup, just got into a dispute nothin' else," John quickly replied in a shrill voice. 

 _Another flat-out lie,_ John felt like choking himself, he was definitely never going to try lying to anyone ever again.

"Wait-- what? You have a newborn, how did you get in a fight--" he could hear the eye-roll, "Never mind, just hurry up! It's not that hard to travel here."

 

After Harry hanged up, John let out his breathe he didn't notice he was holding in. He stared at his phone, wondering  _can_ he eventeleport in his current form. Looking around checking for any people in sight, John slid into the nearest alleyway.

He sighed and lifted two fingers in a circular motion across his other hand, then vanished.

John Watson found himself standing right in front of a door of a building surrounded by police cars.

Great, he was fully visible, if the police happened to notice him then that meant Trouble. With a capital 'T'. However, John could sense three imaginary spirits in the house somewhere. And miraculously his teleportation skills still worked, because none of the officers were guarding the front door at the moment. Idiots.

It was risky but he decided to knock on the door before he was caught, but it was also either fate or misfortune when Donovan opened the door.

"Hello."

"You again, don't tell me Sherlock sent you," Donovan glared at John. Just go with the flow.

"I need to get information from the kids."

This was probably a large case, since Sherlock was participating; or John assumed.

"Sure go ahead, I'm sure they won't utter a single word in our direction. Let alone to a 'friend' of Sherlock Holmes. They don't even act like normal kids. Hiding around the corners, if you ask me I think they need a mental hospital."

 _They_. John only assumed it was just one kid within speaking age. This was serious.

John felt anger boiling within him, the energy was trying to escape. No one should judge a book by it's cover, first Sherlock and now small kids? Donovan had some guts to say such cruel things about people.

"Can I go in or not? I work with kids everyday. If these children contain valuable information, it's not my fault you're not getting it," he bit back bitterly making Donovan flinch and step aside.

"Thank you," John barged into the house letting his instincts pick up the surroundings and which room was which.

He finally came across a room shared by four people, and three spirits. The door was covered in 'keep out' and 'danger' tape, so he deduced it meant the room belonged to a young teenager. John could only assume that the same teen was left in charge of the kids. If the kids were left with adults then the adult would've also taken off their shoes, but there were only three pairs of shoes outside. Toddler-sized. So the someone else in the room had to be the owner, the teen, who went by their own rules.

John smiled as he remembered some of Sherlock's first brilliant deductions.

The door suddenly banged open to a flustered Harry Watson.

John raised his hands in defense, mind rushing to find an explanation for his current form. However, Harry just frowned and ran back into the room. John visibly relaxed and noticed his previous deductions were correct, because the teenager stared at his door like he just saw a ghost.

Right, Harry probably thought that John was some normal human being who couldn't see imaginary friends.

But Harry already broke the most important rule, ' _Spirits aren't supposed to interfere with daily life'_.

The kids were staring intensely at the new intruder, John in all his human glory. He'll need to gain their trust in order to get any information; since, well, he didn't look anything like a kid anymore.

"Did you see that?" The oldest child groaned into his pillow, "I knew this house had ghosts."

"No that was Harry," a kid glared at the older, blue eyes shining. There were three toddlers huddled near the corner of the room, far away from any furniture in the room. John noticed two other spirits were attending to their own children.

He took the opportunity and knelt before the sextet.

"Who's Harry, kiddo?"

The tiny toddler pointed in Harry's direction, "Her. She's my best friend."

Normal people would see a wall.

"Can I talk to her? Talk to you?" Patience.

Harriet Watson rolled her eyes, "Daniel, tell him he can't see me. And he talk to anybody else."

Daniel was about to reply when John cut in, staring directly at Harriet Watson, "For God's sake Harriet, you called me here what do you want?"

"Oh my God." Harriet gasped, "John?"

 

"What in the world happened to you?"

"No wonder we all felt your presence."

"So now you're a human," Bill Murray snorted. Murray was John's partner during the war, only Murray's child... left because she was too sick.

"It is _not_ funny!" John flushed at his imaginary partner, "I'm not sure why I'm like this anyway, it's not my fault!"

Mike Stamford, a medical colleague, grinned at John's direction, "It's because he fell in love."

"SHUT IT!"

" _John_!"

John's face was burning up, he'd never felt more embarrassed in his life. All the spirits had already told their child to go to sleep and the teenager already left for school project, but it still meant John could be heard. From outside.

"What do you mean fall in love?" John sputtered.

Mike shrugged, "I heard this happened once, don't you remember? Years ago, this one spirit decided he just couldn't split with his child. He eventually went missing, but there were rumors that he managed to become a human."

"So who's the lucky gal?"

"Come-on, tell us! I, Mike Stamford, solemnly swear-"

"And I, William Murray-"

"Oh, stop sprouting utter nonsense!" Harry interrupted, "We're holding a meeting here because of a family incident."

John straightened from his bed post, "Death?" Harry shook her head, looking at all the members.

"Oh, murder." Murder was taken seriously in any meetings, some spirits could be witnesses but they can't tell anybody.

"They thought it was suicide, all of a sudden the police come again thinking murder," Bill frowned, "But I think I saw something. Maybe you can help tell them. Their Mum just came home, someone was with her. Vic needed the toilet and I travelled upstairs where the adults were, but it was darker than a closed closet. I could only make out the pill bottles and the man had a cap."

"That's it?",  John scowled at the little information.

"All that I could see. But the man also had on glasses and he arrived in a cab. No more."

"End of meeting. The children have to go to their proper beds and John, go help the police. We have to go, you know the rules." Harry Watson sighed, "Find a place to stay, I'm worried about you." John stood up nodding, time limits were up.

Before he could open the door, it opened itself smacking his left hand.

Only to find Sherlock standing in front of him.

John was clenching his left hand trying to rid of the pain, _What was it with doors hitting him today?_

"I could hear you all the way down the street in a cab, you must have really gave Donovan a headache haven't you?" Sherlock glanced at John while surveying the room and gave a satisfied hum.

"I enjoyed talking to the kids."

Sherlock raised his brows, "Enough to make them fall asleep for a while. Don't lie to me John, they have obviously slept for over ten minutes straight with you yelling in thin air." John noticed Harry crossing her arms in the corner of his eye.

"What is it?" Sherlock turned around also.

"Nothing. Why don't we go outside?" John panicked brushing his trinket, "I got some information." John noticed Sherlock was staring at the trinket with a confused expression.

Shoot.

John quickly spun around and exited the room, pulse ticking like a bomb. It really was not a good idea for Sherlock to find out who he is or was. He hurried past Donovan, rushed outside the house waiting for Sherlock to catch up.

"Can we find a private place?" John shoved his hands in his pockets.

Angelo's.

 

His left hand stopped trembling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised: Part 1 (6/11/17)  
> Revised: Part 2 (7/7/17) a/n: While I've nearly given up on adjusting such a complicated plot, and try to pull my life together; I've actually managed to catch up with Sherlock Season 4. Oh Boy. All I'm missing are the specials now.
> 
> John: Why _do_ doors hit me?  
>  W_H: I like to see you injured.  
> Sherlock: Pedestrian. Can I injure him?  
> John & W_H: No. Yes.  
> "Watson_Holmes continues to drink his tea while Sherlock chases after John." ~fin.


	5. Cut Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wants to know where John got his inexplicable information from.  
> John's help eventually leads to Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating, (for about 8 months?).୧(•̀ ^ •́)୨  
> I went bluh, and just stopped, so I'm writing again to make-up this hiatus.
> 
> Note to everyone, just trying to finish this chapter so any mistakes would be my fault because I don't plan to beta this right now. Why longer sections? I obviously feel awful for not updating.

Sherlock contemplated the fact whether John was actually a witness or a spy paid by Mycroft to stalk over Sherlock.

The detective watched as John contently ate his pasta, not even noticing that Sherlock was staring intently at him. The blond was obviously a soldier judging by the stance, manner, and haircut. John also had slight indications of a limp, possibly psychosomatic the good soldier stood perfectly fine with out any support. Most likely caused by an original traumatic experience, wounded in action.

"I think the cabbie did it."

"I'm sorry?"

"The murderer, I think the cabbie killed them."

"Perhaps, a cabbie is a liable suspect. Easy to blend with the crowd and most people put full trust in these strangers for their safety. You can find them anywhere, everywhere," Sherlock replied disinterested.

John sighed and shoved his plate off to the side of the table and then cleared his throat. "Well. I spoke with the children, thought they might have seen something. Turns out B-, _Victor_ ,saw someone come into the house with his mum."

Interesting there were no signs of a child at the crime scene, so it was impossible that a kid was there.

"B-?" Sherlock grinned at the blonde's mistake he knew more than he was saying.

"The boy," John blurted too quickly, Sherlock noticed that the blond was playing with bracelet on his hand again. "He saw a man with a cap and glasses, but the woman arrived in a cab with no one else and was found dead next."

Still didn't explain why John was at the crime scene and why the kids were asleep.

Sherlock hated limited information he frowned at the blond and returned his attention to the window. "Look across the street. Taxi." 

John gave him a _'I told you so'_ face, then Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf and head out for the door.

 "Welcome to London."

"Er, any problems just let us know," John smiled politely then slammed the taxi's door shut.

Sherlock watched John walk up to him from a few metres away. Half of the detective's mind was frustrated by their find and the other part was satisfied that John was walking in a straight line with no signs of a limp.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down."

"Basically," Sherlock's mood falls back down.

"Not the murderer."

" _Not_ the murderer, no," Sherlock exasperated, tossing Lestrade's I.D. card back and forth between his hands. Damn. He was so sure that that was his man; wrong country, United States. American, Californian. Good alibi. "Hey."

Sherlock snapped out of his trance.

"Where-where did you get this?" Sherlock released the card into John's hands. Calloused; doctor?

"Right," John reads, "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, watching John nod his head. Then the blond starts to giggle silently slightly surprising Sherlock, "What?"

"Nothing, just: 'Welcome to London.'"

Sherlock noted himself to categorise this into John's small yet growing file, and for the first time Sherlock relaxed and lets out a chuckle. Then the consulting detective looked down the road to where a police officer was apparently approaching the cab that they had just stopped in the middle of the road. The passenger got out and pointed at both of them.

Sherlock turned to John, "Got your breath back?"

"Ready when you are."

 "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock hears John giggle and after a moment the consulting detective also begins to laugh.

"That wasn't just me."

Sherlock chuckles and pauses when he heard Mrs Hudson's footsteps. He smiles at John when Mrs Hudson opens the door, her arms open wide.

"Sherlock, hello."

Sherlock briefly hugged her, "Mrs Hudson, John Watson."

"Hello, are you here for the flat's share?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"He'll be taking the room upstairs, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock responded before John could protest. The blonde gave Sherlock a murderous glare before smiling at Mrs Hudson and then followed the landlady into the flat.

The living room of the flat is a mess with all of Sherlock's possessions and boxes scattered across the room, Sherlock noticed John's grimace at the room displayed before them. "I can, um, straighten up a bit."

Sherlock half-heartedly tidied up the place while tossing couple of folders into a box and grabbed a bunch of envelopes and stabs them with a multi tool knife on the mantelpiece.

 John pointed nervously at something else on the mantelpiece, "That's a skull."

"Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’...." Sherlock stared at the skull himself and then took off his Belstaff and scarf.

"What do you think, then, Mister Watson? There’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be needing two bedrooms," Mrs Hudson grinned at the blond.

"Of  _course_ we'll be needing two," John blushed.

"Pity. Did you bring all of your belongings? Wouldn't want to move in without your stuff, now?"

"I-I don't-"

"That's it, thank you Mrs Hudson. I'll take care of him," Sherlock pushed his landlady lightly towards the door. The detective bent down and whispered, "I'll pay for him later."

Mrs Hudson shrieked happily and Sherlock wills himself not to roll his eyes.

 

 Sherlock checked the time on his laptop 11 O'clock pretty late now, he set his laptop to the side of the table.

"You should go to sleep now," the brunet ruffled his hair then faced John's small frame.

The blond was huddled in the chair opposite of Sherlock's facing the fireplace ignoring the detective and stared into space. Sherlock got annoyed and shot up from his seat suddenly startling John.

"Sherlock!" John clutches the fabric of his jacket.

Sherlock felt a sudden pang of sentiment, no, shame; ashamed of startling the solider who sat in front of him.

: _'Sherlock!'_

: _'I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean the scare you. It was supposed to be a surprise.'_

: _'It's okay 'Lock. Please stop crying. You just scared me for a moment there, that's all.'_  

"Sherlock, you okay?" John's soft voice brought Sherlock back to reality, his head hurt like hell. What the in the world was that? It couldn't have been a flashback else Sherlock would have remembered what happened just then, deleted memories never come back. Ever.

"Fine. I just need to be alone for a second. Go... go use my bed, I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

"But-" Sherlock cut John off with a glare and grimaced as a new wave of pain flooded his head. Bloody transport. The blond's expression showed concern, but he reluctantly turned to Sherlock's room. Sherlock sighed when the pain suddenly subsided.

 

The wind blew coolly onto Sherlock's face and he resisted the urge to grab a cigarette.

When his phone rung for the fifth time Sherlock nearly chucked the item out the window. Fuck Mycroft and his pompous arse, his brother was probably spying on him right now at the very moment.

"What do you want Mycroft? You know I prefer to text."

"Lovely tone as always brother mine. I'm calling in regards of the good doctor you have in your flat right now."

"Great, and maybe you can help me find out who he really is Mycroft," Sherlock drawled sarcastically.

"I'm getting there if you let me talk. As you know I have eyes all around London. Finding Doctor John Watson was not hard."

Sherlock scowls at Mycroft's cameras across the street. Mycroft picks his pace, "He's currently on the other side of London." Sherlock blinks at the camera again, if Mycroft wasn't his older brother he'd probably thought he was speaking to the word's most stupid idiot. Even worse than Anderson.

"I know that Watson is in Baker Street right now, but my cameras picked him up at two different locations a few hours ago. Your doctor walked out of the alleyway seconds after you left the restaurant Gregory invited-"

"Who's Gregory?" Sherlock quipped.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sherlock..." Sherlock hears Mycroft pause. Sherlock knows that silence, Mycroft saw something he shouldn't have.

"Stay put. Right now, Sherlock. I'm sending a car to pick you up," Mycroft commanded which made Sherlock scowl.

 

"Stay _away_ from John Watson. He is not supposed to be here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I had a serious case of writer's block, whilst I read some more fanfiction and stared into space.
> 
> For those of you still reading this, just think of this new chapter as a miracle. :)


	6. Extra Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft holds John hostage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Erm, sorry guys for not updating. I just ignored this fic for I don't know many months already. Geez I love you guys, I'm updating because when I looked back at my follows(on FF.net) I was like 'WTF?' 44 follows?**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Warning:** Normally John's chapters won't have cursing, but this chapter has some parts with strong language.

John woke up to the rumbling sound of unwelcomed footsteps below the flat and Mrs Hudson's protests.

Danger was coursing through John's mind. He had to get his kid to safety. Where was he, where was Sherlock? He panicked as the echoes of footsteps grew louder. John scrambled out of the bed and was about to teleport before Sherlock's door was thrown wide open.

Or kicked open. John flinched as the door made impact with the wall.

"Turn around and put your hands on your head, Mr Watson."

"Wha-"

John froze under the point-blank range of the first assailant's Sig Sauer P226R and reluctantly put both of his hands behind his head. He yelped when another guy forcefully held both his wrists together and shoved him out the door.

The soldier's instincts were making him want to fight back but he stopped himself when he was half tossed into the living room where the epicentre for this chaos seemed to originate. Mrs. Hudson was sobbing on the couch he was sitting in hours ago, "John, oh John I tried to stop them..."

"It's okay Mrs Hudson, don't cry," said John as he walked over to her, ignoring the protests of the intruders.

He sent a wave of empathy over her which made her suddenly calm down, then turned to look at the couple of armed imposing figures and sent a wave of Type 1 Disappointment over them. He smirked, satisfied, as most of them clutched their chests or gasped for air.

_'Subdue him, don't let him get into your minds'_

"Who are you, and what did you do to Sherlock?" John responded.

_'Impressive. You can hear the earpiece from that far away'_

"Yeah, and I can see your camera too. Show yourself, you scaredy-cat."

John practically growled at the small camera hidden behind the books on the highest shelf of the room and stomp-climbed up the furniture to it before everyone else in the room. Wait, John mentally smacked himself across his head. Dummy. He forgot that Mrs. H and the annoying minions were in the room with him.

He mentally apologised to Mrs H and was about to send a Type 2 Wipe before he heard a single command - 'Shoot.'

 _'Be more careful next time. Your expression gave yourself away'_ , John heard the voice chuckle as he felt himself fall into the darkness.

****  
  


John woke up feeling groggy and lifted his head up from his chest.

He tried to look around, but panicked slightly when he couldn't move his body. His arms and legs were apparently strapped onto a stereotypical dentist-like chair. Oh great, and his fingers weren't responding either. John internally groaned.

"I see you've finally awaken," said a voice from behind him, making John jump.

John could've sworn that icy tone sounded vaguely familiar. He frowned as a bright light flickered to life, momentarily blinding his vision and stopping him from seeing who his host was. The sudden flash made him recoil and he felt himself clench his hands, a sign that he could start moving again.

"Who are you, and where's Sherlock?" John growled.

"I think you're asking the wrong questions." The voice paused. "Why do you care for Holmes so much?"

John noticed the man in front of him hesitated slightly. "You can call him Sherlock if you want."

Concern was all that John could feel from the man in front of him when Sherlock's name was brought up. This was most likely a bothersome overprotective person who abused their power for whatever reason to try to get closer to Sherlock. Who else would go through all that trouble just to kidnap a 'new friend?’

"Doctor Watson, what are you doing here in London?"

That was when John froze. How the heck did that man know he was a doctor? To the rest of the world he didn’t even exist. Unless...

"It's John, please," John said, hoping that the man didn't know anything about imaginary spirits.

" _John_. Can you please explain why you were found walking to a crime scene demanding Sherlock?"

"What is your problem? I only wanted to talk to him!"

"You knew him, yet there is no such meeting recorded. You have never crossed paths before, yet you know even more than Sherlock does."

"You _profiled_ him? No wonder he avoids you, you're a freaking stalker."

The lights suddenly turned off and John blinked trying to adjust his vision, he could see the man in front of him was red and frowning. Then something snapped in his mind, no. It couldn't be...

Mycroft spoke-up, "This stalker is his _brother_."

**(FLASHBACK)**

John grinned as Sherlock's brother, Mycroft was his name, peeked his ginger-head into the room to check on his baby brother.

The spirit stood up and cautiously waited for the older Holmes to put his books and bags down. The child was a genius so far as John could tell and Sherlock would definitely follow his footsteps.

Anthena walked into the room seconds after Mycroft set his bags, John grinned broadly and waved to her.

"Hey."

"Afternoon, John," Anthena said as she glanced up from her blackberry.

"Hey Myc." John grinned evilly. He knew that the boy hated that name.

Mycroft turned slightly and gave John the death glare before he walked over to Sherlock's bed ignoring them both. John rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Anthena hoping to crack up the political spirit.

He pouted when he got no response. "Busy day?"

"More bullying, a lot of the spirits are leaving their children," Anthena sighed, looking over to Mycroft.

"Oh," John also turned his head, "He's almost eight..."

"He knows what will happen, I've already told him. Besides, he’s capable of taking care of himself in the future."

"Wait. You told him?" he hissed.

"Problem?" Anthena stared at John, "Oh, I keep forgetting, you're new in this section; anyway, the affluent spirits all tell their children ahead of time. Supposed to make them more independent."

"I'm not-"

"John," Mycroft said, holding Sherlock in his arms, "I wish to speak with you alone. Anthena, please.”

Anthena frowned at John but the blond spirit shrugged, and she left the room, leaving the spirit alone with the two Holmes, "Yes, Myc?"

"I need you to make a promise."

~~**x**~~ **end** ~~**x**                                           ~~

Oh shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot; John was in big trouble.

This would be the second child who had seen him as a human and what was worse is that this one works for the government. John wanted to disappear. Murray was definitely going to do more than just snicker at his horrible misfortune.

"You know about me too," Mycroft stared at the blonde who was trying to avoid his gaze.

"No... I don't. I saw your pictures, er..."

"I don't believe Sherlock is the sentimental kind."

John couldn't help but realise that Anthena had been correct. Mycroft had become a great imposing figure, but this was starting to feel too intense. The doctor looked at everything around the blank room but Mycroft.

Maybe he could just sneakily throw a Wipe...

"Don't you dare. The government wouldn't like that." John jumped. The man had to be a psychic.

"I'm not telling you anything," John stubbornly replied.

Mycroft's face showed signs of irritation but continue to hold his composure and walked up towards John before glancing down at the table briefly looking at a thin file. The blonde curiously tilted his head forward.

**Captain John H. Watson, M.D.**

Oddly that was all John could see before Mycroft swiftly closed the file after less than a second. Then Mycroft's phone pinged.

"We're ready for phase two," Mycroft replied.

Minutes later John found himself in a sealed conference room with only one glass window. Thankfully he wasn't strapped down this time. He wished he had invisibility, which was usually unnecessary for a spirit, but it would really benefit him right now.

"You have absolutely NO RIGHT to hold me here!" someone shouted, then the door swung open rather hard nearly bursting John's eardrums.

"I don't give a damn! This violates every law to-" a figure was shoved into the room.

The spirit quickly ran across the room to check if the person was okay. Seriously, had Anthena ever taught the kid any manners?

"You okay?" John reached towards the swearing ash-blond.

"Fine. I've had wor-"

John's eyes widened when he saw the other's face. If anything was creepier it looked exactly the same as the reflection in the mirror he looked into a few hours ago.

"What the actual fuck," the human said before punching John in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: This is one of the most longest chapter I've written so far... Sorry for the year long wait.**
> 
>  
> 
>    
>  **John:** Wait... so I punched myself?  
>  **W_H:** That'll be explained in the next chapters.  
>  **Sherlock:** John, let me see your face.  
>  **W_H:** I though you had 25/20 or so vision, what's the point of-  
>  "Watson_Holmes holds an icepack and glares at the 'oh-so' innocent detective." ~fin.


	7. Sickled Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating, unfortunately I reread this fic and I killed myself with anticipation. I mean, _I_ write this but I can still cause myself to want to read more. (^~^)"

"Sir, there's a Mr Lestrade looking for you."

Sherlock lifted his head up anxiously, finally something that wasn't boring, "Send him in."

Lestrade entered the room with a stupefied expression, Mycroft does tend to exaggerate his decorations. Sherlock scoffed at the DI face before jumping out of Mycroft's chair and then landing on the mat purposely scrunching the fibres. If one word could express what Sherlock was feeling at the moment was; bored.

Boring.

The world was  _so_ freaking boring. The detective grabbed a pen from the desk and twirled it in his fingers and looked expectantly at Lestrade who was just about to sit down on a chair.

"Mycroft has some sort of pressure plate that would activate his security if you sat on that chair. I took a tedious amount of time trying to disable most of his cameras; Lestrade, I wouldn't sit there if I were you."

Lestrade hopped out of the chair as quickly as he could and sighed, "Sherlock, I'm here because I'm concerned about you."

"Here is my sound explanation; I _always_ appreciate it when Mycroft kidnaps me," Sherlock sarcastically announced to the CCTV camera in between some old books making sure that his bothersome brother would get his message. Lestrade turned his head in that direction also and saw the small device, he walked over there and picked up the tiny camera.

"Sherlock, does he always put these around everywhere?"

"I believe there's also one in your house, specifi-"

"Stop," Lestrade made a face, "I do _not_ need to know where that creep of your brother puts his cameras."

The detective grinned manically and took the camera from Lestrade, crushing it. Now that Mycroft's only digital spy was out of the way, Sherlock could finally ask Lestrade some questions.

"Where's John?" Sherlock plopped himself onto Mycroft's chair again.

"I'm not your informant, Sherlock," Lestrade growled.

Sherlock being restless stood up again, decided to ignore that statement, and continued to rifle through the British Government's papers. Five hours, twelve minutes and three seconds since he's last seen his blonde companion.

Sherlock shook his head and frowned, there was a waxy paper that was sticking out from beneath the files. Sherlock pulled out the piece article and blinked.

"Hey, isn't that a kid's drawing?" Lestrade peered at the drawing.

It was a messy drawing of six stick-figures on a lawn with a smiley face sun on the right corner, on the left-hand corner written in black was Mycroft's name. One the page were two tall stick-figures which Sherlock quickly deduced was a rough sketch of their parents, but there were four kids.

The inanimate scrawny baby-like object, he guessed, was himself and that the other boy was Mycroft. The two other children however were a blonde boy and a dark-haired girl.

"What's that?," Lestrade pointed at the scribbles on top of the heads, "Are they birds?"

"No, George you idiot. They're words, Anderson has really dropped your IQ to even lower levels."

Sherlock ignored Lestrade's protest about what was the correct way to say his name; why does it matter, they all started with a G anyway.

The consulting detective reached for his pocket lens to further inspect the names of the boy and girl's on the pastel artwork; John and Anthea. Suddenly, Sherlock's legs gave out from underneath him as a new wave of pain crashed onto his body.

Good thing Lestrade quickly grabbed Sherlock before he dropped onto the ground, Sherlock's head was pounding.

: _Remember, 'Lock. There's a hidden treasure behind there. NO, Sherlock, I meant the paper._

"Lestrade, the paper. There's something behind it," Sherlock gripped the DI's shoulder in pain. Lestrade glanced down at the pitiful sight in disdain, but seeing Sherlock's desperate look he reached down to grab the fallen article.

Lestrade flipped the paper around and blinked vaguely at it, Sherlock frowned. "What does it say Inspector?"

"Sherlock, there's nothing. Hey-!"

The consulting detective had ripped the paper away from Lestrade, and glared at it. Nothing. That wasn't right, there _was_ something and the brunet growled frustratedly at the paper. He flipped it upside-down, right-side up, and started to tilt the page all over the place until Lestrade snatched the paper away and ripped it.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?" Sherlock yelled at the DI.

"Shut up, look what happened," Lestrade pointed at the two halves which now had a grey hue on it. Sherlock lifted them and realised there were now words on the back, he stared at Lestrade in disbelief who shrugged obliviously.

"I dealt with a case like this before, something to do with a stolen government experiment and invisible ink."

The detective inspector smirked. "That was long before you entered my life."

The grey words which had magically appeared, even to Sherlock's frustration, looked as if they were written by a child. Except Sherlock did not recognise whose writing it was.

It definitely wasn't Mycroft's since the words weren't as loopy and looked a bit jagged, plus Sherlock would recognise his brother's hand writing from any age. The handwriting though was definitely creepy, they gave a strange vibe which sent chills down his spine. The detective glanced at Lestrade and noticed that the DI visibly shivered and read the words.

**_Dear Sherly,_ **

**_Behind the memories  lies an extra door_ Nowhere _to go_**

Sherlock blinked at the paper and read it's counterpart;

**_Too bad it's locked,_ _but there's a key_ _that's what keeps us free._**

Below the scribble was a crude smiley face or at least it looked like one, Sherlock hoped. The consulting detective put both pages down next by one another on the desk and sat down, the drawing most likely belonged to Mycroft and by the looks of it had never been touched for over 20 years.

Then how did they know Sherlock would find it?

"It says, Nowhere. What's that supposed to mean?" Lestrade gave Sherlock a confused expression.

Sherlock became silent as he quickly dove into his mind palace in search for anything that would piece together the clues on the map, briefly opening tabs on certain information. Nothing, the whole thing was fraud- 

"Oh, Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Why, is it where your toys?" Lestrade snickered. Sherlock gave him a death glare which shut him up, and briefly glanced at the map memorizing each and every turn. The map was closely related to his childhood, Sherlock could feel it. Lestrade just shrugged his shoulders. "Sherlock, maybe we should drop this nonsense. It _is_ a child's drawing after all."

"No, but it _is_  a child's game," Sherlock remembers and smirks. "We're going to find out."

Sherlock knew where to go, back to Baker Street. The consulting detective had to get out of Mycroft's insufferable office, but how. A couple of possible ways popped into his head but most of them included crossing paths with Mycroft's face, Sherlock scowled at the ideas.

The detective had subconsciously put himself in a particular area of the room. Of course.

"Sherlock, no. We are not going through a window."

"Make me," Sherlock stated as he lifted up a chair.

 

"Really, Lestrade you should run around more," Sherlock said aloud to the DI who was struggling to keep up with the younger consultant.

"If... you weren't born with springy legs!" Lestrade muttered aloud once he caught up.

"Problem?" Sherlock mentally grinned as the DI groaned and leaned on a wall that separated them from the British Government's men. Maybe they should do this more often, it was already amusing watching Lestrade struggle to keep up with him.

The consulting detective huffed and straightened out his signature coat, then adjusted his scarf before going up the steps to 221b. Only to stop when noticed a note was taped onto the door. The consulting detective took the slip of paper and flipped it open.

**A KEY**

Inside there was a little pouch of dirt, finally, a hint.

Within seconds Sherlock was inside the living room, Lestrade grudgingly tailed the detective upstairs and waited patiently for the genius to say something as he looked through a microscope.

"Found it!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Good, and we're not going."

Sherlock glared at the detective inspector. "Don't patronise me, you know better than to do that."

"But I've known you for five years, and yet John asked me."

"John?" Sherlock asked softly without realizing it. The whole specimen in the slide forgotten over the mysteriously familiar blond who knew of his past. Lestrade cracked his neck and tilted his head, trying to recall whatever John told him.

"He distinctly told me that, when you're hyped-up you tend to trip over a ton of cracks," Lestrade pointed out. "And you fell on your face while getting here."

Sherlock patted his left cheekbone and stubbornly stated. "Not."

"Twice."

Sherlock groaned.

Upon arriving to the university building, it was already evening and the sun could barely be seen. This area was different though, the place was completely void, dark, and vacant.

For a second Sherlock wished he had brought a companion other than Lestrade. He quickly shook the thought out of his head and nodded to the police detective. They were ready.

Both opened slammed open the door to a long hallway. Halfway down the hollow interior, the lights flickered out.

_"Oh, I see the hero is already here."_

Sherlock snapped his head up, as Lestrade also hurriedly reached for his gun, at the direction of the voice. Out in the darkness, stood a dark silhouette of a man.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock replied calmly.

_"You were supposed to come alone."_

"That's not what the paper said," Sherlock snorted. The figure in front of the duo seemed to become agitated as if this was all against his plan. Then he stiffened up, Sherlock sensed something wasn't right. A shape of a gun was distinctly seen in the shadow's hand, pointed at his own head.

"No!" the detective instinctively ran toward the figure. The one key, to his memories his child, everything would be gone if that man did not provide him the clue.

"Sherlock, stop!" Lestrade commanded.

 _"Opsie. Bam!"_ The silhouette suddenly slumped and disappeared, Sherlock heard a cry behind him.

He spun around, his eyes widened when he saw the detective inspector had disappeared. No, this wasn't supposed to happen; Lestrade was supposed to be there, there was no corridor or room for him to disappear to. For the first time since his childhood, Sherlock felt a sense of dread creep into his spine.

_"Oh, don't worry. Little Gregory's sleeping."_

"Where are you?" Sherlock swallowed. "What are you?"

... ...

"I'm your real _Friend_." The darkness engulfed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I have to much dialogue and not enough action.  
> Don't worry, John will be with Sherlock soon.


	8. Pale Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double trouble, John's getting more freaked out. Especially when he sees a kid without a imaginary spirit.  
> Who is this kid?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating, I just never really realised that a _lot_ of you people actually wanted to read this story.  
>  Forgive me? Welp, I was too caught up with drawing other fandoms I sort of set this aside.  
> As usual, I am updating again (yearly? that's bad). D:

_"Hey, hey you wake up."_

_"The other one dissipated."_

_"Did anyone catch a glimpse of where the subject went?"_

_"Cameras malfunctioned and shut down."_

Blurry, things were so blurry. There were voices everywhere, so distant and disoriented like static, like far-away voices. Where was he, where was this? John blinked to a view of a bunch of people crowded around him, well the fuzziness was starting to fade a way by now.

"He's awake! Human subject is awake!" One of the people within the crowd shouted.

Wait, human? Where did that human go, the one who looked like him; it shouldn't be hard to find the guy who punched him in the face and John certainly wasn't the 'human subject'.

"Where, where's that guy," John's throat felt parched.

"Sir, he disappeared a few seconds after the punch landed."

"Disappeared? Like gone, poof, magic?" John's eyes widened and he swallowed hard, "How- then what did you mean by 'human subject'?"

By now the group of people retreated back at a safe distance and were watching him, one person stepped forward cautiously. John was confused, why were they backing up from him.

"Sir, we can't comprehend what exactly you are trying to say. Certainly you fall under the human category, what else could you be? The unknown entity disappeared once _you_ , sir, landed the impact; if you are scared for your life it is quite alright seeing it disappeared without a trace upon contact."

No, no, no, no, no, no- That wasn't right, it was supposed to be the other way around; John was the one punched in the face and he never punched anyone in the face at least a few minutes or hours ago.

"Sir-?"

"NonONononoNoNOnon- I'm not. I'm not-"

**'Shut up already, I was wondering when you would realise.'**

John yelped loudly causing his momentary hyperventilation to choke him.

"Sir, are you alright?" Another person stepped closer to help.

**'Don't answer to him, and will you _please_ stop the waterworks, I thought you were a grown man.'**

"Wha-" John blinked away the tears collecting in his eyes. The voice seemed to groan loudly before becoming silent again, but where was it coming from? None of the other people spoke after the last one asked how was he, so who?

**'Whatever happens, I'd suggest for you to be quiet. ... So we can head out of here.'**

_'Mister Holmes entering the premises all evacuate the room.'_

John noticed everyone was piling out of the room rapidly, wait a sec, his hearing was still fine. Although, the voice that told him to be quite was something else, it sounded like it was coming out from his mind. He shook his head violently. Geez, of _course_ the world had to be a confusing place, and it just so happened that it decided to start picking on him.

So maybe at this point he should accept that he was going mental. Because spirits do not _ever_ turn into a solid form, especially overnight; let alone change their overall appearance entirely.

But human. Human?

"Doctor John Hamish Watson, apologies for having to put you through all this trouble."

John looked up to see Mycroft standing at the entrance of the door. How can the British Government act so differently after kidnapping him from the middle of the night and forcing him to come here, now Mycroft was smiling an exasperated face full of pity at him.

What in the world.

**'Please, don't tell me you haven't realised it yet.'**

"What-" No John, think mentally,  _Who_ _are you?_

By now everything around the spirit was drowning out; John barely acknowledged the older Holmes' faux smile and that he was being escorted out the building.

The voice sighed, ' **Get out of my freaking body already.'**

 

John just noticed he barely made it out of the building.

In addition to that fact, he also noticed that he was holding his breath for a while.

"Sir. Mister Holmes wisely advised for you to leave. A car will arrive soon and lead you back to your flat, he sends his regrets."

John turned around just in time to catch a glance of a few locks of dark brown hair before it disappeared from his sight. A feeling of déjà vu crawled up his back.

The silent sound of the brakes catches his attention once more, the car that that lady just talked about must have arrived.

Already John felt uneasy as he entered the car, when he asked the driver where they were going the only response he received was silence. By flat, did that lady mean Sherlock's because it was really the only home he could think of other than the house where Harry was residing.

That reminded him, the human. It should be safe to talk the the voice now.

_'Hey. Um, you awake?'_

...

No response huh, maybe it was his conscious. After all and those last words he heard were just Mycroft's grand illusions.

**'You really think so?'**

"Cheese-it's!"

John grinned at the driver who was staring at him from the rearview mirror, apparently they already arrived at their destination. The spirit hurriedly thanked the driver and quickly exited the vehicle, hoping he didn't act too strange on the ride or else he'd have to deal with Mycroft again.

 **'If you're going to stand out here all night, sure, but that's my body you're in right now.'**  The voice muttered, **'The key's wedged behind the wall light.'**

"So you're the guy who punched me in the face earlier?" John asked as he tiptoed to reach behind the lamp. 

**'Yeah, sorry about that; that's probably why we're in this situation in the first place. My name's Watson, Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.'**

The feeling of dread over-powered the sound of keys clattering on the floor.

  

This was probably a conversation he never expected himself to be caught in.

Then again, with all the chaos going around right now it wasn't to hard for the guardian patron to become convinced that he was in another person's body, or his counterpart's body. Or be in a different world where he looked older, and was taller, and was visible to the human eye. They even shared the same status, even for imaginary standards.

"Aw cripes," John gaped at nothingness.

 **'Don't tell me, you have the same name as** **me?'**  The voice wavered, **'This has something do with us getting kidnapped.... Right?'**

"But it's impossible, never had something like this happened before. Spirits aren't supposed to have human counterparts," John was babbling to himself as he swiped the keys off the ground, " No such thi-"

 ' **What the fuck, spirits?'**

Shoot did he say that out loud, John felt his blood freeze. Was it his blood anyway, was this now his body, did his thoughts even have any privacy any more? The spirit was just making himself more anxious and confused by the minute. It was already bad that he wasn't under normal imaginary spirit conditions, but this situation at the moment was even worse than before. Maybe, maybe some explanation was the best choice at the moment.

"Mind your language," John blurted out, nearly face-palming himself. Not what he was trying to say.

**'Sorry.... Whoa, what the heck?'**

"No I'm sorry for getting you into this mess in the first place," John felt himself calm down as he sympathised with his counterpart.

"I don't know how-" he gestured to himself before inserting the key into the lock, "this happened."

 **"And I don't know why I lost control there, I wasn't trying to say sorry. Well...,"** John felt the voice scowl **,** **"I am sorry now, it just slipped out."**

The spirit giggled, it was kind of funny how they crossed paths. Although, were they _supposed_ to meet anyway, because there had to be at least  _one_ event in history similar to theirs. It would suck if he was stuck like this forever. A cold draft of the room paused his train of thoughts.

"Someone's in here," John whispered to his counterpart. He could feel the presence of his counterpart tense up as he edged closer to the centre of the small flat.

**'Go for it. In three, two, one. Now!'**

As soon as John entered the small lounge, the presence of a young child filled his senses before his eyes registered what was in front of him.

 

If John wasn't panicking before, he definitely was panicking now.

Obviously this kid sitting in front of him wasn't his counterpart's, heck the guy only told him when to advance. It was a peculiar sight, even as a specialised medical-soldier spirit, he's never seen a child with a head full of silver hair before especially this late in the melanocyte-clock. There also wasn't any sick or unhealthy vibe coming from the boy.

Even more disturbing was that there was no spirit nearby, but there definitely was a spiritual barrier around the living room before he stepped into it.

 **'What is it?'**  The voice hissed, **'I was hinting for you to flip on the light not freeze there with your arm stretched out.'**

_'You can't see what I'm seeing? There's a boy with silver-coloured hair in front of us.'_

 ' **I can't anything, it's pitch black-'**

"Mister?"  

 John swallowed loudly, of course he'd forget that he could still use his powers even if he wasn't really considered an imaginary spirit any more. Adjusting his eyes back to normal vision was easy, but that was what scared him. With "normal human" vision he couldn't see anything, just darkness, but how did the kid know he was there.

The spirit blinked back to his normal vision, where he could see the kid once again. The boy was staring at him more likely behind him, John saw nothing when he turned around quickly.

"Are there lights in the room? Can Mister turn them on?" The boy continued to stare past him.

"How can you see me?" John warily reached for the wall once more.

"Wow, you speak with your mouth closed?"

**'Where's that voice coming from? Hey, you there?'**

That's when it snapped. Oh. Oh! OH! John felt his fingertips brush against the flip, "Alright Mister's gonna show a magic trick, but you have to close your eyes first."

John flipped on the light as soon as he saw the boy cover his eyes.

"You can take them off now, kiddo," John hoped that his belief was right, he waited as the boy uncovered his face.

"Whoa! That'sa neat trick, now you made two of you!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos at who guesses the child's name correctly.  
> Pfft, or more likely who it is. Shoot did I say too much? >:/

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are appreciated. >:D  
> Please, there's a subscribe button. ~~I think you should use it.~~


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